


Of Course it's a Sex Position, Captain Vanilla

by Caffiend, uglywombat



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: ER visits, F/M, Humor, Natasha is a sex goddess, Oral Sex, Rock lobster, Sex Toys, Steve Rogers sex god, Steve Rogers turned sex fiend, Trauma, Vaginal Sex, avengers antics, bad game night etiquette, careful what you name your sex tapes, mortifying sex moments, murder mysteries, outrageous sex positions, unwitting airing of sex tape, who knew Natasha was so limber?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 17:54:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28817382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caffiend/pseuds/Caffiend, https://archiveofourown.org/users/uglywombat/pseuds/uglywombat
Summary: In which on the night Clint Barton is declared dead, the mere muttering of “Rock Lobster” will forever change the lives of Steve Rogers, his devoted girlfriend and the Avengers. Secrets will be revealed, sex lives turned upside. And nothing will ever be the same again.”
Relationships: Natasha Romanov/Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/You
Comments: 30
Kudos: 43





	Of Course it's a Sex Position, Captain Vanilla

**Author's Note:**

> The genius of uglywombat and the sporadic additions of... well, me, create the genius that is Steve Rogers, Sex God. And giver of injuries that result in the most humiliating ER visit in history. Thank the good lord, there's so much smut that it will require two chapters. Though I doubt any of you will be displeased.

_11:42pm - Patient is a 32-year-old female, 5”10 and 165 pounds. Blood pressure slightly elevated 129/81_

_Health history: “Jane Smith” and her partner “John Jones” attempted a highly acrobatic sex position this evening around 7:30. Patient Smith found herself in a-_

“Don’t say it like that!” You were holding Steve’s hand, and even though you couldn’t feel much below your waist, your back, which was currently shaped like a German pretzel, was definitely making itself known in pulsing waves of misery.

McDreamy (okay, you should stop calling him that in your thoughts before you slipped and said it in front of poor Steve, who was already feeling bad enough) looked down at you, smiling that kind smile that made his hazel eyes twinkle, and-

“I’m sorry Polly, but I do have to document your medical history for your charts. Don’t worry- no one will know that you and-” McDreamy nodded to a red-faced Steve Rogers, Captain America himself, “Mr. Rogers are the patients here.” McDreamy took your other hand, “We take your privacy very seriously here at the New York-Presbyterian Lower Manhattan Hospital.”

Steve groaned audibly as you attempted a smile.

“So!” your inhumanly beautiful ER doctor continued, _“Patient Smith found herself locked in position due to a slipped disc that froze her body into a-”_

“Don’t say it like that!”

_"-contortion resembling a-”_

“Don’t say it like that!” This time, Steve was begging your doctor.

McDreamy sighed and clicked his voice memo off. “Why don’t you two relax for a moment. I’ll need to do a pelvic exam-”

“Oh, god,” you moaned.

“-and I’ll need a specialized speculum because of the-”

“Please don’t tell me!” Steve actually begged, a tiny, desperate whine in the measured tone of Captain America. Your doctor, who was just barely smothering a grin, nodded politely and left the room.

The ER was busy that night, you could hear the hurried steps of nurses, the beeping of equipment and the drunk chained to his bed in the next curtained cubicle was shouting “Gimme the keys! I’ll drive, you asshole!”

Steve squeezed your hand again. “Polly, honey, I am so sorry, really. I didn’t-”

“It’s not your fault, honey,” you said soothingly, “it’s Sam and Natasha’s. Totally, completely, and absolutely their fault.”

🦞🦞🦞🦞🦞🦞🦞🦞🦞🦞🦞🦞🦞🦞🦞

Eighteen days, two hours, and seventeen minutes prior to your late-night sexscapades gone horribly and catastrophically wrong, the air is rich with the scent of woodsy candles, beer, and fried chicken.

It is also thick with tension and murder.

On the floor, pooled by thick crimson blood, Clint writhes and splutters. Much like a flailing cane toad, his muscles twitch and wrench as he draws his final breath with the dramatic flair of Dame Helen Mirren. 

Clint Barton is dead. 

Lightning crashes outside, quickly followed by the percussive rumblings of thunder as the crowd gasps and cries. 

Sam Wilson, the brave and handsome Falcon, takes a step forward, his long, Burberry trench billowing in the Arctic breeze blustering through the open French doors and stands over the now limp body. “Ladies and gentlemen, there has been a murder here tonight,” he drawls with much a much exaggerated Southern twang, “and one of you here in this very room is responsible. My name is Detective Samuel Wilson and I will be your host for Murder She Wrote.”

Beside you, with the now drained beer bottle in hand, Bucky scoffs and emits a long drawn out groan. “If I admit to being the murderer, do I get to leave now?”

You lean in, taking the empty bottle from his hands and placing a fresh cold one from the cooler beside you, and whisper, “We both know you are not the murderer, my little pussy cat. If I have to endure this, then so do you.”

Steve, all blonde hair, classic good looks, and no-bullshit, shushes you both aggressively as he furiously takes down the rules Sam is dramatically demonstrating with Natasha. 

It’s not that you don’t love games night, because The Avengers’ Games Night is the greatest night of your month, besides sexy-second-Friday-of-the-month... it’s just that the gorgeous Falcon is the most obnoxious and competitive host out of everyone. 

Including Tony Stark. 

Bucky rolls his eyes and boorishly shoves an entire hot dog, covered in mustard and ketchup, into his mouth without spilling a drop on his pristine skin-tight white t-shirt. Where did he even get the hot dog? Sam hasn’t served food yet, another reason why he is the worst games night host. 

Which in itself is a travesty, because you can smell his grandmother’s fried chicken frying in the kitchen and your mouth is watering. 

The rules are as long as War and Peace and you’re pretty confident Sam included a few of his own in there just to rile up Bucky. Nat smirks that deadly and beautiful little lip curve as she watches her boyfriend engage with his party guests. Steve is still furiously writing down the rules because your beautiful boyfriend is, if anything, competitive.

  
  
Ever since Sam announced that he would be hosting a murder mystery theme for his games night, everyone’s favourite Captain has been manically researching and designing his game plan. As much as you love him with all your heart and soul, you could think of a few other things you would rather be doing with him, or to him, or him to you, given he’s been away on a mission for three weeks. 

In short, you’re horny and up for it. And not just a little bit needy, you are hormonal and raging for a good and filthy shag. And given the fact he only got back into the city a whole twenty minutes before you had to leave, you are not happy. 

Finally, Bruce starts wandering around the room with food and you and Bucky are quick to fill up your plate. You pick up the gloriously golden fried piece of heaven. Somewhere above you can hear angels singing, the mouth-watering aromas of onion, garlic, and spices overtake your senses and you can practically taste the oncoming orgasm…

“Oh no you don’t,” Steve snaps, ripping the ethereal mouthful from your grasp along with your loaded plate, “this is not eating time. We are taking down everyone in this party.”

And so begins the longest and most painful interrogation you have ever witnessed. You barely take part, occasionally offering Steve encouraging thumbs-ups and pats on the back, because you won’t dare make the mistake of interrupting his game plan. You’ve been on your boyfriend’s games night team many a time and have learned the hard way not to step on his oversized toes.

Your mind fixated on the fried chicken hovering in front of Bruce’s face as he listens to Vision waffle on about some horrific sounding classic movie he watched, your stomach growls in protest. Steve is officially bordering on the worst boyfriend ever and you might die of starvation before he uncovers the true identity of Clint’s murderer, who is currently being hand-fed mac’n’cheese by Tony who is trying to coax clues from him. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, and so begins the portion of our evening where we cast our suspects out of the shadows and into the light,” Sam announces with the melodramatic prowess of Russell Crowe throwing a cellphone.

What transpires next is a bit of a blur. In time, there will be a vague recollection of Thor throwing Mjolner at Tony’s head after the billionaire - ah - quadrillionaire blamed the blonde God. Steve, being Steve, steps in to mediate the situation only to receive a pumpkin pie to the face. It’s a great loss because Sam’s mom’s recipe is like sex in your mouth. Wanda and Vision erupt into a verbal sparring match as they levitate over the now overturned couch. Nat sits on the dining room table smirking, helping herself to the biggest bowl of popcorn as she takes in the carnage. 

“Enough!” Steve screams over everyone. “Tony is the murderer.”

“Hey FRIDAY,” Tony calls out in a desperate attempt to draw attention from himself, “play Rock Lobster.”

Expecting to hear the groovy bass line you move your hips, yanking Steve against your body, knowing full well he will pout about being forced to dance... except that the music doesn’t play. 

Horror and shock consume the room. 

_“You look so good, baby,”_ you hear Natasha purr and immediately you turn your attention to the giant screen, _“all tied up and no way out. I love having you completely out of control and at my mercy.”_

Somewhere to your left, you can hear Tony gasp like a girl and Sam begin to freak out. He begs and pleads FRIDAY to stop the film but everyone’s attention is glued to the screen and the naked couple kissing. Natasha just smirks as she calms down her darling boyfriend who is having a meltdown in the kitchen as everyone watches the video. 

You shouldn’t be watching this but there is something so beautiful and intimate in the image of Natasha stroking Sam’s long, thick cock. It takes a good moment for you to realise that the muscular man is tied to what appears to be a large web. Behind you, Steve inhales sharply as Natasha suddenly drops into the splits and takes the beautiful cock into her mouth. 

“Holy shi….” You slam your hand over his mouth before he can finish. 

“Tony, make your STUPID FRIDAY turn this off now,” Sam wails from the kitchen.

On the screen, Sam bites his bottom lip as they make eye contact and Nat’s fingers delve between her folds. 

_“Do I have you all hot and bothered?”_ Nat chuckles, licking Sam’s length, her eyelashes fluttering. 

“This has me all hot and bothered,” Steve whispers against your hand still clasped over his lips and you can just feel his cock beginning to harden against your ass.

The crowd gasps as Nat gracefully twists herself 180-degrees into a handstand and wraps her legs around his neck. Behind you, Steve watches the video through spread fingers over his face, completely enthralled. 

  
It’s the hottest 69 you have ever seen. Ever. Melodic moans coupled with the sound of Nat’s arousal dancing along Sam’s tongue.

Steve’s breath is hot against your skin and you are forced to pull away as he wraps his arms around you, his arousal evident. 

“Who knew Natasha was so limber?” Bucky smirks beside you as he leans back against the bookcase behind you.

“Is that even a sex position?” Steve asks breathlessly.

“Of course it’s a sex position, Captain Vanilla,” the brunette scoffs, “and it’s a good one. I wouldn’t recommend attempting it after finishing a bucket of KFC of course.”

Suddenly the room goes dark, the electricity cut as Sam cheers from the hallway of the apartment. 

Before you can make a stealthy escape to the fresh plate of fried chicken sitting on the table waiting to be served, Steve has you by the hand and nearly dislocates your shoulder pulling you out of the room and through the narrow hallway. 

The slight wheeze vibrating through his chest and the firm grip he has on your hand is a not so subtle indication that sexy things are about to happen. This is totally unlike Steve, a man strictly prone to on-the-bed-sex. Great sex mind you! Still, if the opportunity for some hot and quick banging arises you take it by the proverbial horns. 

The apartment is still cased in darkness as he nearly tears the spare bedroom door off of its hinges, slamming you against it as it shuts violently. His lips seek yours out furiously as he kisses you like a sex-crazed lunatic. And it’s good. 

So damn good. 

You can feel his hardening erection pressing into your clothed mound as he grinds against you with vigor and determination. Thick, talented fingers wrap around your wrists and forcefully pull them over your head, binding them with five dexterous and highly skilled fingers. Taking his free hand, Steve quickly fights with the delicate buttons of your shirt before ripping it to the side and taking your nipple between his teeth, lace bralette, and all. 

His breath scorches your skin, setting your sensitive nerves alight as he nips and licks your pebble. You can’t help but grind your hips up, teasing his hard cock, painfully straining against his jeans. Your poor, deprived boyfriend is gagging for it. 

But before you can make a desperate plea for that magical dicking, you find yourself thrust across the room. 

Steve’s intention had been for you to land on the bed. Of course it was. He’s a kind and loving boyfriend who wouldn’t hurt a hair on your head or ass, despite how many times you beg for a spanking. 

But despite those good intentions and all that super serum, he fails to notice the large and imposing spider web. Black nylon, linked by red plastic spiders, stood ceiling to floor, blocking the vanilla and soft bed. 

The surprised smirk that forms on his lips is enough to melt your panties. 

In a flash (thank you Dr. Erskine), Steve has closed the gap between you, torn your panties from your hips, undid his zip, and set himself right at home. Your walls are so quick to stretch around him, quivering against his thick girth as you tighten your legs around his perfectly round ass. 

It’s been too long since you have been together and you take a moment to relish in the moment. The heat of his skin against yours, the calm rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, that homely, rich scent of his aftershave and natural scent that is so uniquely his. 

And then Steve says something that completely rips the breath from your chest and sets your entire sex life on fire. 

In the dim light of the moon peeking through the windows, you just make out his eyes fixed on yours, his hands caging your face. “It seems I have caught a tasty little treat in my web to devour.”

A throaty, needy mewl that tremors in your throat sets him off, a furious and desperate pace. The kind of momentum that has your clit dragging over his skin as you bounce helplessly in your arms, his pleasantly smooth balls slapping against you in a way that almost tickles you. 

To muffle the rapturous and downright filthy symphony falling from your mouth, which would cause more harm than good given the disaster occurring on the other side of the bedroom door, you latch your teeth onto the closest and most delectable stretch of skin you can find. 

Steve hisses and growls as you bite his neck, his fingers furiously gripping your hair in response. “I’m not going to last long, doll.” Even gruff and frayed, his voice is perfection. 

“I don’t need long, soldier.”

Before you can truly enjoy the moment, before you can explore the weirdly sexy kinky web you grip onto, your chase ends. Your orgasm is strong, starved; milking him for everything you can as you both come in a cacophony of salacious moans and filthy, tongue-filled kisses. 

You feel alive for the first time in weeks, excitement dancing through your muscles as you kiss and re-dress each other. It reminds you of the fun-filled early days of your relationship when everything was so fresh and new. 

“Maybe we should get a sex web,” Steve chuckles, pinning you to the door before you hope to make a subtle re-entry into the frantic argument occurring in the apartment. 

“Steve Rogers, please do not buy any unauthorised sex toys again. I’m still mortified from the last time and I can’t even look Cho in the eyes,” you beg. 

🦞🦞🦞🦞🦞🦞🦞🦞🦞🦞🦞🦞🦞🦞🦞

_Back in the ER…_

_11:56pm - Patient Smith was admitted curled in the fetal position on the stretcher. Attempts to straighten arms and legs proved nearly impossible until administration of_ _5mg of Gabapentin for pain._

_Efforts to straighten Patient Smith’s spine are still unsuccessful, based on the use of-_

“No! We’re not discussing the use of anything! You said we didn’t have to, McDr- I mean, Dr. Childs-” Granted, you were a little woozy from whatever the nurse had pumped into your IV, but you were determined that there would be NO MENTION of any “equipment” used. “Steve? Tell him!”

You’d never seen your boyfriend offer up such a desperate, cheesy smile. “Yeah, doc. It’s just … uh…”

“Smooth, babe,” you added sullenly. 

McDreamy eyed the two of you with a barely concealed grin. “Well, I guess I could list this as a result of a muscle spasm, but in the parlance of Emergency Medicine, everyone knows what ‘muscle spasm’ means.”

“What?” Steve asked hoarsely, “What does it mean?”

McDreamy, shifted, pretending to cough so he could put his hand up to his mouth to hide a grin. “Well, it means-”

You flailed desperately, like a baby turtle on its back. “No! Don’t say it!”

The doctor eyed you with some concern. “Has your right shoulder always been higher than your left?”

“Oh, god…” you moaned.


End file.
